INFECtIOUS

by Elizabeth Forkey

  "She's had it rough," Jack says in her defense. No other explanation is forthcoming and we all stand there staring at her for a few awkward moments.

  "Do you have a room ready for them?" Mr. Terrell asks somewhat impatiently, reminding me of my job and making me feel like I'm not a very good hostess.

  This man really gets on my nerves.

  "Yes of course. We have a nice room with two twin beds, will that work?"

  "A bed of any kind sounds amazing," says the Mountain Man.

  "Follow me, the rooms are upstairs."

  "I'll leave you in Ivy's capable care," says Mr. Terrell, dismissing himself.

  That was almost a vote of confidence.

  "We'll see you tomorrow morning," Mr. Terrell says as he goes out the front door mumbling something about misplacing a perfectly good coat.

  I take the Mountain Man Jack and Rosa, his shy little shadow, upstairs to guest room number four. It's one of our prettiest rooms. The walls are dark blue with blue and white stripped wallpaper running around the top near the ceiling. A beautiful fireplace fills one wall, and I hurry over to light the logs that have been waiting for the next guest. The kindling catches with one match and Rosa's dark brown eyes light up with the orangy glow.

  I light the kerosene lamps on the antique dresser and bedside table, and the room fills with light and warmth. Now that I know how bad everything is out there, beyond the gates, I realize even more that our Inn is a beautiful haven to all who stay within her walls. Days gone by come alive in the old fixtures and plush Victorian carpets. Gazing at the gilded picture frames of the past, you can forget for a moment that the world is almost over.

  "Look, Rosa," I say as I show them their bathroom with its deep porcelain claw-foot bathtub, "You can go for a swim in there!"

  She peers around Jack's legs and takes the tub in with a quick glance.

  "This is just wonderful," Jack says appreciatively gesturing towards the room and its two separate beds. "I'm not her father, I rescued her," Jack says awkwardly. "I wouldn't feel right giving her a bath. I hate to be a bother—I'm sure you're very busy—but if you had time to help me bathe her— That would be more appropriate. Maybe you know where I could find her some clothes too?"

  "Of course. I would love to,” Aunty would be pleased with my gracious white lies. I’ve never bathed a little kid, and I don’t think this wild, terrified little girl will be easy to clean off. “How long have you had her?" I ask.

  "About two weeks. Two very stressful, cold, challenging weeks. I took her from a butcher outside of Atlanta." He says with a piercing stare, as though willing me to understand what he's implying so that he doesn't have to say it out loud in front of Rosa.

  My legs go weak and I stumble a step backwards, both from shock and the sudden anger clouding the Mountain Man's dark eyes. The missionary Ben just told us about this. This sweet little innocent was to be butchered and eaten. My eyes swim with tears, and I give a small nod to show him I understand. He nods back curtly.

  Now his voice carries the anger I saw in his eyes, "She's an innocent, not a convert. Still too young to have the disease but not old enough to understand Life. We don't normally take children, but—I couldn't leave her there! Not when I could save her."

  Jack looks out the window; the light of dawn is finally showing in the distance. When he turns back to face me, his voice turns genteel and mannerly again, "So, we've been camping out and making our way from Atlanta, trying to avoid any contact with them. I've asked Marcus to find a good home for her, so I'm sure she won't be staying here for more than a day or two. I'd appreciate any help you can give me. I'm not very good at little girls."

  "I'll help in any way I can. Just let me know what you need. For now, I'll let you rest and get settled. I'll go make us all some breakfast. After breakfast maybe we can see if Rosa would like to try out that big tub," I say with a smile at the girl.

  "Thank you," Mountain Man Jack says collapsing onto one of the beds, his filthy clothes leaving indelible marks on the pretty white antique bedspread. I sigh to myself and pull the door shut.

  I hurry down the hall to Aunty after leaving Jack and Rosa. Aunty is still sleeping and doesn't stir when I come in her room. It's almost 7:30 a.m. now, and she is normally up by 6:00 every day. Her breathing sounds strange and thin to me. I don't know what to listen for, but everything about the way she looks and the way she is sleeping looks to me like someone on their deathbed. I sit next to her and cry quietly, she still doesn't wake.

  I pet her face and hair and pray for her. I beg The Lord to heal her. I know He can. I believe with all my heart that He can. He has healed all of us from LS; His healing power is still at work more than ever in these last days. Healing is a miracle that the old church saw only on occasion. But we, His last church, see it every day when we look in the mirror. It is almost a commonplace thing to us. God heals. End of story. I am going to believe in that healing for Aunty. I'm not going to panic, not going to accept "no" for an answer.

  "Lord, please do your thing," I ask with my hands laid on her. "Restore her please? I need her."

  I'm crying; begging Him.

  "I have lost so much, please don't take her away. I'll be all alone."

  I lay my hand against her face; she doesn't feel warm or fevered. I don't think this is a bug or a virus. She looks like a shell of herself; old and weak and small under her covers. She is still sleeping, and I know I have to go cook breakfast. I have to keep things going around here. Pretty soon she'll be better.

  God will hear me; I’m certain.

  I brush the tears from my eyes and try to think positively. I don't want to have to explain to her later why none of the guests are fed and the house is falling apart. I smile at the thought of another lecture from her. I would die if I never heard another Aunty speech.

  I am believing Him to heal her. We've seen lots of prayers for healing answered over the last few years. God is doing great things all the time. About a year ago a little girl fell from a second story window. She broke her back in the fall and would have died. Rev. Depold prayed over her, and she was completely healed right then and there. God hears our prayers here. Aunty will get better. I should see if the Elders can come pray over her today.

  First breakfast. Then I'll send for the elders.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jail Break

  I cook a huge breakfast. French toast made from homemade potato bread, baked apples, and scrambled duck eggs. I set the table for Ben too, hoping he'll join us for meals today. I'd like him to come down and carry the conversation with his fellow missionary. I don't want to eat alone with the Mountain Man and the mute girl.

  I knock on both doors, Ben's and Jack's, and call out "Breakfast is ready."

  Within minutes they are both downstairs. The minute they see each other they embrace in a long hug with a lot of back slapping. Both look happy to see the other, but their eyes both wear the same heavy sadness. I know it's the other missionaries they are thinking of. Only two out of thirty have made it home. Will more come today?

  I hope so.

  Ben and Jack visit and eat and eat and eat. I'm worried that the huge breakfast I made might not be enough. When the serving plates are almost empty, I offer to cook more, but they both turn me down, insisting it was the perfect amount and they couldn't hold another bite.

  Little Rosa sits up on her knees in her chair and eats with her hands. She is like a little wild animal. I would guess her to be maybe three years old? She doesn't speak at all, but I watch her closely. When her eyes fall hungrily on one of the serving dishes, I stand and serve her some. I smile at her a lot and cut her food into small bites to make it easier for her. She is making a huge mess. But the sight of her eating is so tragic that I hardly think about the stained tablecloth or the food all over the chair and floor. I feel blessed to have what we have, and I'm happy to be feeding this pretty little wild thing.

  I think she is either Indian or Hispanic. I wonder
if Rosa is her real name or if Jack named her that? Under her long black eyelashes, dark intelligent eyes dart around the room taking everything in. When she is finally full and bored of the table and the food, she hops down and starts wandering around the big dining room, exploring.

  I leave the men to talk and decide to give Rosa a bath now, while Jack is out of the room. I can clean up breakfast later. Aunty wouldn't let the mess sit out like that, but I'm in charge today. I think it might be best to clean up this sweet little mess first. I hold out my hand to her, and she looks hesitantly at me. Then, with a tiny shy smile, she scampers over to me.

  When her little hand finds mine, something happens in my heart. I’ve never felt anything like it. It's like a bomb has gone off in me. I suddenly feel certain that I'm meant to love this little girl. Her smile fills my heart as she peers up at me from underneath those beautiful fluttering lashes.

  I have never really cared much for other people's children. I’ve never wanted to have a child of my own. Why long for something that is most likely impossible? But this little girl is meant for me. I stand stalled at the foot of the steps just smiling at her. Does she feel it too? This strange connection? With no indication that she has shared in my epiphany, Rosa pulls me up the stairs. She happily bobs her head back and forth, her messy black curls swaying.

  Partway up the stairs, I hear Aunty talking downstairs. I pick Rosa up and hurry back down. Aunty is in her old bathrobe, her hair a disheveled mess, talking to the missionaries in the dining room. I'm a little embarrassed of her appearance, and not used to her being so—old. I hurry over to her and ask her to come help me with something in the kitchen. She shuffles slowly behind me to the kitchen and sits down gingerly at the kitchen table.

  "I thought you were going to come get me," she says slightly annoyed.

  "I did come, Aunty. I couldn't wake you." I pause, unsure of what to say next.

  Questions like, "What's wrong with you?" and "Why is this happening?" are popcorning in my head. Aunty doesn't offer any explanation.

  "I figured you needed the rest. Are you feeling better?" I ask hopeful. Maybe God has already healed her!

  "I'm sorry Ivy. I—I had hoped never to have this talk with you."

  I slump down into a chair across from her, absentmindedly handing Rosa a pencil and paper to color on.

  "Whatever it is Aunty, it’s going to be ok. I prayed over you, and I'm believing in faith that God will heal you. Do you feel any better yet?"

  She smiles softly at me and clears her throat. "Ivy, I have cancer. I've had it for quite some time now. I'm so sorry dear, but I'm dying."

  She's apologizing to me for being sick?

  This is why God will heal her. She is such an amazing, godly woman. The world needs her. I desperately need her.

  "How do you know?" I ask, my eyes filling with tears despite my pronouncement of faith for her healing.

  Hearing the word "cancer" plants a seed of doubt in my recently replanted garden of faith. Last week it would've put me over the edge. My garden was a desert last week.

  "Hale diagnosed me several months ago. It is most certainly cancer. I have a large lump in my breast, and we are fairly certain it has spread to my bones and organs. I have very little time left."

  "You can't know that for sure!" I insist.

  Rosa is squirming, so I stand up and dig out a few crayons from a drawer. I show Rosa how the crayons color on the paper and her eyes light up.

  "I know, Ivy. I've known for a while, and I have peace. I've already been anointed and prayed over by the Elders. Twice actually. The Lord has given His answer. I'm not to be healed of this."

  They've already tried and it didn't work?

  Maybe my prayer will be different. I cling to that hope. "He will heal you still Aunty. I'm positive. Maybe He wants to heal you from my prayer? Wants us to see how great He is and that He is still there. Still listening."

  I must believe. If I listen to Aunty and let doubt into my heart then my prayer won't work. I refuse to hear it. I won't be sad.

  I am believing!

  Aunty smiles knowingly at me, as though she knows what I'm thinking, and says, "Just promise me you won't walk away, Ivy. No matter what His answer. I need you to promise me that you'll always trust Him."

  She is suddenly too choked up to continue and tears spill over and run down the deep wrinkle lines that have recently changed her face. I set Rosa in the chair and hurry over to Aunty. I grasp Aunty’s thin, frail hands. They feel too cold.

  "Of course I'll never walk away Aunty! But you don't have to worry. You'll be here to lecture me right into the Pearly Gates, ok? Let's just get you back in bed. You just need some more rest. Should I get Dr. Markowitz? Isn't there anything he can do to make you feel better?"

  "No," she sniffles, "but I guess I will lie back down. I'm hurting a lot lately."

  "Let me get you something for the pain, some Tylenol?"

  "No, Thomas needs it. I'm fine. It isn't that bad," she lies bravely, with a forced smile.

  "Are you hungry? Can I feed you?"

  "No dear, I'm afraid I haven't been hungry in quite awhile. It's what the body does when it's sick. I should feel starved, but I just feel—tired."

  Rosa comes over to stand next to us, and Aunty seems to notice her for the first time.

  "Who is this child?" Aunty asks. "Do we know her?" she asks pitifully.

  It almost seems as though Aunty’s afraid that she's starting to forget things; afraid that her memory is failing her along with her declining health.

  "Her name is Rosa." I say smiling at little Rosa as she does playful little hops across the square tiles of the old kitchen floor. Rosa looks up when she hears her name and smiles back at me. "I want to ask the Elder's if we can keep her," I tell Aunty quietly.

  Aunty frowns. I hope she'll feel better about it when she regains her strength. Even if God doesn't take the cancer away, he could give us more time together. Just one more year, that's all we need. She has lived with the cancer this long, why not just a little longer?

  Please God?

  "Let me walk you back to your room,” I lead Aunty out of the kitchen through the door to the back hallway, avoiding Ben and Jack. “I'm going to make you some soup, and you are going to eat lunch in a little while and feel better."

  *****

  After tucking Aunty back in—and making a mental note to change her sheets and freshen up her room next time she's up—I head towards the tub with Rosa. Jack and Ben are still talking at the table. It seems that Jack has not conjured up any paternal instinct at all, because I've had Rosa for at least half an hour now and he doesn't seem to have noticed. I run Rosa a bubbly bath in the big tub and help her strip off her clothes. I fall back on my heels, robbed of breath, at what I find underneath her dirty garments.

  Scars.

  More than I can count.

  Some of them are old, but some of them are still healing. I can't tell what made the offending marks, but they are all over her tiny body. I ache at the thought of what her short life has been like. What she has gone through. The fact that she took my hand, that she can smile at all, is a miracle. Rosa sinks into the bubbles of the tub and they mercifully hide her scars from my teary eyes.

  I find in myself a desperate desire to make her feel loved and safe. I pet her long hair and sing to her and teach her how to splash around in the tub. She's hesitant at first, but then she takes to the water joyfully; swimming and kicking and splashing me back. She's having fun. I can't help but wonder if it might be the first time she's ever had fun. I wonder if she's ever had a warm bath before.

  "Do you like the water?" I ask her.

  She smiles at me.

  "Can you tell me how old you are?" I ask. "How old are you?" I hold up three fingers, then four, then five.

  She just smiles at me. I wonder if she even understands English.

  After half an hour of splashing in the tub, I get her out and wrap her in a big towel.
I sit on the bed in her room and rock her in my arms, singing a mix of little kid songs I learned as a child and some of my favorite hymns from church. She falls asleep wrapped in the towel in my arms. I don't want to put her down, but I need to find her some clothes and I still need to clean up from breakfast. So I gently lay her in the bed and cover her up.

  *****

  I feel exhausted as I head back downstairs. I've already done so much today and going up and down these stairs so many times isn't helping. I'm overwhelmed and trying to hold on to my faith. Afraid that if I allow a moment's doubt, He might not answer my most desperate prayer. I can't do this by myself. Who would run the Inn? Could I realistically care for little Rosa without Aunty? And why is this happening now, when everything else in life is already so hard?

  Pravda wants me for some unknown reason. I found something in Matt I never knew I wanted, only to have him taken away from me—twice. If Aunty leaves me, I'll be alone. They won't let me keep Rosa, I won't be able to run the Inn, they'll put me with some family in town—and no one in town even likes me right now. I keep thinking of that girl who killed herself. I don't want to be her, and I'm sacred that my life is barreling in that direction. My legs feel weak underneath me, and I consider crumpling down on the stairs and crying.

  I sit down on the bottom step and lift my hands up to The Lord.

  He says to praise Him in the dark times, and He'll be the Light.

  I spend a precious minute telling him everything He already knows—and I do end up crying. But it's not a "poor me" cry of desperation, just an overflow of too many emotions being held in check too long. I ask for a lot. Aunty's restoration, Matt's safety and a chance to see him again, Rosa's short but important future, and strength. I ask for lots and lots of strength. When I stand back up, I feel Him there and I know He has a plan. A plan that I want. My own plans are shortsighted. His will get me where I need to go.

  Jack and Ben are still at the table, so I decide to conquer the problem of clothing Rosa before the breakfast clean up. I can't help but smirk; Aunty would be appalled at how long I've let that mess sit there. Being my own boss isn’t the worst thing ever. I pull on my coat; and, without even thinking, I hurry out the door to the U.R.